


Centoi

by DarthRevandidnowrong



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Animal Sacrifice, F/M, Historical Gore, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Loooooots of blood in this sooner or later, M/M, The First Order is Sparta, The Force is basically the Greek Gods now just go with it, The Peloponnesian Wars AU that literally no-one asked for, The Rebel Alliance is Athens and it's own allies/client states, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-09 06:36:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12882219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthRevandidnowrong/pseuds/DarthRevandidnowrong
Summary: The Athenoi have grown too strong. Sparta, and its old king, have been warily looking towards Athens' growth, growing warier still when Athens all but dismantled the former 'Peloponnesian League', instead simply declaring that they were part of a 'Republic', with only Athenoi allowed to run for rule of this Republic.Incensed by this, Sparta eventually invaded Athens' territory, sparking all out war. Kylo Ren, a mysterious Commander of the forces of Sparta, invaded the small walled town of Megara. seeking something his master believed could win the war before too many invaluable Spartans were lost...





	1. Megara, Winter 431 BC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this work has elements from the first film in it, and events that absolutely never happened, or never happened quite like that. An example of that is Lor San Tekka, who you'll notice simply didn't show up here. That's frankly because I need him for later, to be able to show off the sometimes bizzare side of Athens.
> 
> Events from history are also changed, such as in the ACTUAL war, Athens and Sparta never really fought in land battles, because Athens had hoplites across half the Aegean, and Sparta was TERRIFYING in land battles. That's being thrown out the window; Sparta's still terrifying, but they have a limited number of actual warriors due to the nature of their system of training, so I'll be amping that side of things up more than anything. If either of these don't sound edifying, then please, go read something closer to your own tastes. As it says in the tags, NO-ONE asked for this, this is just an idea I've had rattling around all day. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The scent of smoke was almost overpowering in the tight helm that Ren was wearing, and for that alone, he fought his bodys natural urge to rip the helm off and breathe deeply of some fresh air. He didn't wish to look weak in front of his command, even if they were mostly perioikoi; not TRUE Spartans, but better than the Helot slaves who did much of the farmwork and other work that was below a free man to do.

"We've not found anything yet, Commander" A gruff-voiced perioikoi said, straightening into a formal salute: clenched fist on breastbone, his rigid posture relaxing after his Commander glanced towards him, noting as Ren began to bark orders to other officers that, thanks in part to the helm, the Commander's eyes looked more like Thanatos than a honourary prince of Sparta. Swallowing hard as the prince's helm, with it's great transverse crest, swung back towards him, muttering a quick prayer to Nyx, asking that her son not take his soul to the underworld yet, he listened as Ren spat orders that his unit was to cover the western wall of Megara, as the Athenoi would surely send some sort of force, even if it was only citizen militia, now that Sparta had invaded so close to Her walls.

Ren turned balefully away as the man saluted and ran off with his morai, the well-disciplined drumming of feet on the stone roads calming him somewhat. "You" He said, pointing at one of the officers still idling nearby "Inform the aristos in charge here that if I'm not brought San Tekka's head within the hour, I'm burning this town to the ground. Artemis help me, I'll even burn the citadel" He said coldly, ignoring that this was supposed to be a swift raid to claim what his master sought.

Stepping away from the command group as it suddenly writhed with new purpose, Ren stepped closer to the burning house. There was, for now only one, and his men were doing an excellent, if callous job of keeping the few citizens of the town from putting the fire out, lest it spread and lead to calamity. Hearing one, a man called Pallas, begin laughing at the men and women desperately trying to force their way through to the fire, Ren drew his sword, and without a thought, cut clean through most of the thatch of the roof of San Tekka's former dwelling. The look of surprise on the face of the merchants as they finally surrendered to the push of the bigger Spartans, and slowly began to move away, content that the fire was under control was almost comical . Kylo was frankly almost insulted that they believed that his men would have allowed the town to burn to begin with.

Were the Spartans seen so poorly here? He wondered as he walked the loose perimeter his men had set up, before a whisper of sound led to him, without thought or conscious reason, to swing the massive shield he was still carrying on his left arm, hours after he ought have put it aside, across his body and braced himself behind it, mere seconds before the warhead that had been fired at him slammed into his shield with an impressive weight behind it. He cursed, screaming orders even as he cursed the invisible shooter, and his men, suddenly far more disciplined than they had been all afternoon, rushed into position, men instinctually forming phalanxes with their morai, some raising shields to protect the faces of their comrades, stoutly ignoring the screaming of muscles forced to lift 30 pounds of wood and bronze.

With a snarl, Kylo broke from his phalanx, hoping that the sight of him would force his ambusher out of the darkness. He suspected they were alone, for no force of archers in all Greece would have shot just one arrow, with almost every man relaxed and without their shield close at hand, at one of the only men watchful and ready. Loudly, so that their mysterious attacker would know just how useless their position was, Kylo called to his men "Morai! At the run! Advance!", stepping slightly aside as his tightly compacted phalanxes ran at the small copse of trees where the arrow had come from. To run while in a phalanx was almost impossible, but Kylo had trained with his hippeis enough to be able to pass on the benefits of experience. It had become a mark of pride for his men to be able to form a devastating phalanx, in spite of the fact they were first and foremost a cavalry unit.

The phalanxes ran no less than a pasang to the copse, losing no more than a half dozen men before flushing out the archer, who wore the distinctive 'uniform' of a wide-brimmed straw hat, a green shirt and a short skirt of leather hide over a small pair of shorts that proclaimed to the world that he was one of the feared mercenary archers of Krete. An aichme licked out as the man scrambled to escape, the aichme slamming against his skull, sending him tumbling to the ground.

Eventually, they managed to drag the near-unconcious man to Ren, having first checked the rest of the copse, and indeed much of the next pasang or two of the town itself, in case any other Kretan's showed up with a grudge for hurting one of their own. Kylo stared at the corpses, his mind trying to figure out just how they would get the honoured dead back to Sparta for burial, before having that morbid train of thought brought to an abrupt halt by the Kretan being deposited in front of him. Kylo stared at him grimly, knowing that the man was in the pay of SOMEONE, and he could guess very easily who that someone was...

As his thoughts continued, the Kretan managed to rally somewhat in his fight against unconciousness and managed to croak out 'So... Who talks first? Do I talk first... Do you?". Somehow, the words managed to give Kylo clarity as to what to do next. Staring down at the man as he rose from his half crouch over a body, he ground out "Bring this mercenary with us back to Sparta. I'm sure a few weeks there will loosen his tongue." He was just on the verge of threatening the man further when the strange, almost hypnotic, polyphonic symphony that was the Paean began, with several men lifting each of the half-dozen corpses the Kretan had made onto their shields, tears openly trailing down the faces of hardened Spartan soldiers. Dismissing the Kretan, Kylo took off his helm, freeing the long dark hair underneath, and joined, his incredibly deep voice adding a tone of deep grief to the Paean. It would be a long march back to Sparta, carrying such burdens, he thought practically, but it would be worth it for his men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so there's a awful lot of technical terminology here. I'll go through it as you see it on the page:  
> Perioikoi: Perioikoi are essentially non-citizen free men and women. During this period, they'd be responsible for manufacturing and trade, since Spartan men were literally not allowed to take part in 'economically productive activities'. They served in the army, but were not trained to the same standard as an actual Spartan.  
> Helot: Helots were a slave class in Sparta, basically anyone they'd 'won' during wars. They were the ones who did farm work, mining, anything the perioikoi DIDN'T, so that the Spartans could focus solely on war. As a result of this, the helots were a restless group, and the Spartans reacted by purging the Helots every autumn, to 'blood' new Spartan youths.  
> Thanatos and Nyx: These two ought to be well known; Thanatos is Death in Greek mythology and Nyx, his mother, is Night.  
> Transverse crest: Essentially a massive fan of hair that Greek helmets had. Could face sideways, almost framing the helmet, or it would look like a mohawk  
> Megara: This is just a place in Greece, close to Athens, allied with Athens, but not PART of Athens.  
> Athenoi: Just a homogenous word for Athenian, since that's technically Latin  
> Morai: A kinda made up term taking an ACTUAL Greek word. Basically it's a catch all for a phalanx group, roughly 100 men  
> Aristos: As you can guess, the rich people of a town  
> Artemis: Goddess of the Hunt in Greek mythology, and oddly, the patron Goddess of the Spartans, hence why Kylo's swearing by her here.  
> Hippeis: It's a word for the unit of cavalry in Sparta who protected the King. Basically the Knights of Ren, but there's no word for Knight in Ancient Greek.  
> Krete, and Kretan archers: Crete is called such in this work because the Greeks don't have a soft 'c' sound like we do. Kretan archers did exist, and were horrifying, because a large, slow moving phalanx was every archers DREAM, and Kretan archers were the best in the Ancient World.  
> Aichme: A spear, roughly 9 inches long, 4 of which is the actual blade.  
> Honoured dead: In Sparta, the ONLY people who could be buried were men who had died in battle, and women who had died in childbirth, since that was considered a war by Spartan society. So Kylo wondering how the fuck he's going to get 6 men, on top of their shields and the rest of their weaponry and armour, back to Sparta is a real concern for the Spartans.  
> Paean: Absolutely and completely made up. We have no real evidence of what Spartan burials were like, but I wanted to add something different to the Spartans, make them a little more religious in their idea of dying in battle. They'll be singing that Paean in battles VERY soon.
> 
> I do hope you enjoyed this work. Do feel free to comment if you did, and if you didn't, do please tell me why so I can improve it if there's enough desire for me to continue.


	2. Isthmus of Corinth, 431 BC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains a scene of torture, and the sacrifice of a dog. If either of these things upset you, please don't read this chapter! I'll put a summary in the beginning of my next chapter, describing what happens here for those who skip this chapter.
> 
> I'm frankly astonished that this work has had the response it got, to be honest. For a piece of writing written in 20 minutes, by someone who's never written a piece of literature before, much less fan fiction, to get a decent response is mind-blowing for me lol. Many thanks for reading.

His helmet was far too tight for this, 87 thought to himself as he helped drag away the Kretan. He may be an enemy, but that was no reason to leave him to the predations of the Spartans, or the, naturally, grieving perioikoi. Sweat poured down his face as he struggled to lift the man, and he frankly despaired of ever getting the damned man onto one of the carts the Spartans had brought with them. After a few moments more struggle, one of the other members of his morai noticed the young man's struggles, and jogged over to help, grounding his aichme by jabbing the lizard-sticker at the base of the weapon into the earth, leaning it casually against a olive tree, and propping his shield against the tree as well, making sure both were within easy reach if something happened.

"You need a hand there, xenos?" The man asked casually, completely missing the sudden tension in 87's shoulders at the hated name. 87 turned his head towards the speaker, managing to scrounge up a smile for the speaker somehow.  
"Thanks, Slip" He said, an edge of malice clear on the name he chose for the man, who grimaced in acknowledgement of his mistake.  
"Sorry boss" Demetrius, or 'Slip' as his morai brothers knew him, after he'd managed to break their entire phalanx during training by slipping on some ice during combat training, cannoning into the back of the front rank, said. "I know you're no true xenos, but..." His voice trailed off after he _finally_ noticed the glare 87 was sending him, instead grabbing hold of the Kretan's left shoulder, and helping 87 hoist him onto the cart. The Kretan jacknifed into a sitting position, howling at the pain in his head and shoulders, and Slip sent him hurriedly back to sleep with a well-placed punch to the temple.

"You look after him" 87 commanded, looking at Slip until he nodded in acknowledgement, turning to collect his own aichme and shield, before running off to find out what Ren wanted his morai to do on the march back to Sparta. Impatiently waiting to be announced, he finally got through to Ren just as the man began barking orders, the sounds muffled and oddly metallicized by the helm he refused to take off. Shaking off his idle wonderings of _why_ Ren refused to take off his helmet, 87 listened with a sinking stomach as he heard the order that his morai was to 'aid' in the torture of the Kretan on the march home. Not for the first time, he sent a prayer to Artemis, and to Athena, to send him a way to flee Sparta, for good.

The march was long and arduous. Spartans were trained to run in full armour from an early age, and while perioikoi were not, they still could make far better time than any citizen militia of Athens or Thebes. They marched around forty pasangs before darkness fell, and encamped near the Isthmus of Corinth, a autonomous city-state, but one which was far friendlier to Sparta than Athens. The sound of the Kretan's screams soon echoed for all to hear, as Ren systematically tortured him, having him beaten with the hilt of men's swords, cutting shallow rents into the flesh of his legs and torso, and finally several shallow cuts to his feet, before he was unceremoniously tossed into the Aegean, earning another ear-splitting howl from the Kretan, who had passed out from the pain several minutes before.

87 dragged the man back to shore, guilty and heartsick at the pain the man was being forced to endure. He had not _caused_ any of it, himself, but had been forced to watch as Ren and his second in command, a woman by the name of Phasma, efficiently and brutally torture the man to within an inch of The Underworld. Finally, infuriated that the man had refused to talk through such tortures, Ren barked at the others to leave. Breathing hard, 87 and his morai left, with only 87 looking back with any feeling of guilt.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm impressed" Ren said, staring at the bloody, bruised man in front of him. "Nothing my men did made you tell us what you did... with the boy" The man leant forward, hissing through a almost dislocated jaw  
"The... Resistance... will _not_ be intimidated by you." Suddenly he was thrown back against the bark of the tree he was tied to, Ren's patience having clearly run dry. Ren hissed through his teeth, clearly infuriated, "Where... is he?"  
Dameron began to scream, the pressure in his head mounting exponentially as Ren's hand got closer to his head, but he clenched his teeth again, and refused to speak.

Finally, all but despairing of getting information from the Kretan, Ren walked a pasang or so out from camp, and came back minutes later with a small dog, a scavenger from Corinth from the look of its emaciated frame. He brought it into the tent where the Kretan hung, and with surprisingly little ceremony or compunction, cut it's throat. Calmly, as the animal feebly writhed, body desperately trying to flee, he brought a small bowl to the rent in the dog's throat, gathering as much of the animal's blood as was possible. He then sliced through the dog's stomach, and, after some slicing and a great _crack_ as he broke through the dog's ribcage, produced the dog's heart. He whispered, entirely oblivious to the horrified look the Kretan was giving him "Lord Ares, speak to me. Lord Ares, hear my plea. Lord Ares, aid me in my search." Still whispering his eerie chant, he gathered up the dog's body in his hands, dipped it's head into the bowl of it's blood, and flicked blood from the corpse onto the Kretan's face.  
Instantly, the man began to scream in horror and no small amount of despair, as the god Ares tore through his memories, dredging up the worst of them, and quickly finding just what had happened to the boy the Kretan fondly called BB.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full credit for the dog sacrifice goes to a friend of mine, Anjael, who discovered that there was a cult of Ares which sacrificed a dog every year to him, and in return, Ares would speak to them for another year.
> 
> Now, this is a strange chapter, not least because Ren sacrifices a dog. In my head when I wrote this, I simply decided that the Force powers shown in Star Wars could be replsced by the various Force users being, for want of a better word, priests of the Greek gods and goddesses. Ren, due to his anger and warlike tendencies, was a perfect fit for Ares, God of War.
> 
> Also, the deal with Finn. Ancient Greek society was remarkably diverse for the time, given that many of it's cty-states were trade empires, such as Athens, or Thebes. Sparta is VERY different to these others, and decried the xenos even being allowed in GREECE, let alone Sparta. Since Finn naturally had to be in this story, I simply decided that his family were from Persia, probably the region of Egypt, and that they died when he was a baby, leaving him to 'raised' by the state, as many Spartan orphans seem to be in this period. That said, he was almost CERTAINLY called worse things than 'xenos' which simply means foreigner, and meant anyone, be they pale skinned Germans, or dark skinned Persians, that wasn't Greek.
> 
> I do apologise for how long this has taken me. Personal issues have plagued me the past week or so, leaving me practically incapable of doing anything, let alone write.
> 
> Just as a final note, a pasang is roughly half a mile.


	3. Isthmus of Corinth, 431 BC

87 was going to be sick. He could feel it in the saliva that flooded his mouth, and he flinched every time another scream echoed from the tent which housed the Kretan. Given just how often those heartrending screams emanated from the tent, he was practically trembling with the rage and heartsick guilt. Ren had left the tent several minutes earlier, carrying something in a bundle undedrneath his cloak away as the scream continued. Finally, 87 could take no more of this guilt and rage and _hatred_ of the Spartans who surrounded him, occaisionally jeering at the screams from the tent, and he walked away, abandoning his post, stumbling blindly into an olive grove nearby. He tore his helmet off, sucking deep lungfuls of air into him, and lent against a tree, trying to get his trembling under control.

_A bad way to end_  
The thought came to him suddenly. _I would take your pain from you if I could_. Another thought, seemingly from nowhere. Wonderful. Alongside having to sort out Slip, try and stay alive in the madhouse that was Sparta, _and_ deal with his commanders terrifying mood swings, he'd apparently gone mad as well. _You're not mad_ , came back to him, almost reproachfully _I am more careful than the rest of them, thank you so much_. Odd, the voice sounded almost prim. Was he hallucinating? _No, child_ , came the thought, accompanied by a sigh. _I suppose this was inevitable_ came the thought, just before a aged man stepped, quite literally, out of a tree. The man looked _ancient_ , his skin looking more like bark than true flesh, and he was so bent with age, 87 feared he would break. His staff was the oddest part of the man, odder even than how he'd _got_ there. It was tall, with a carving of a serpent wrapped around it. A Therapeutae?

87 raised his hand in a polite wave, knowing that the Therapeutae were gifted healers, and his men might need this man's help at some point. The old man looked at him and, to 87's horror and surprise, spoke directly into his head. _Interesting. Father always warned me that I'd find a priest someday, but I never anticipated someone from Sparta, and beyond, to be my first_. The last was said with a wry tilted smile on the old man's face, genuine amusement at the whims of the Fates, who ruled over even Gods. _Take my hand child. You know what you must do, but you shall need my strength to break free of your bonds,_ he said, extending a hand towards 87, his hand suddenly swirling with colours and sounds, most notably the soft, sibilant _hiss_ of a snake.

"Your strength?" 87 asked with a dry mouth. "And what bonds? The bonds of my morai? The bonds of Sparta?" _The bonds of fear, of hate, and of rage_ , came the calm response, his hand still outstretched. 87 stared at the man's hand, conflicted. He desperately wished to be rid of his hatred; it was a dark vine that slowly was strangling his soul. But at what cost? What if this Therapeutae was of some monster? Could he be giving up his chance at Elysium? "What is the catch?" He asked, his hand slowly raising to grasp the old man's hand. He smiled, and said _no cost. You shall be my priest, and through you, I shall show this world the wonders of my craft._ Finally, convinced by the sincerity in the man's voice and face, 87 grasped the man's hand, and his mind was filled with overwhelming information; how to splint a bone spiralled into the recesses of his mind, how to cure a snake bite tumbled into the cracks of his mind, thousands upon thousands of cures, remedys and surgical techniques crammed into his rapidly overworked mind. Suddenly, blazing like a sun, a cure unlike any other came into his head, one who's ingredients constantly shifted and changed. The cure seemed almost _alive_ in it's own way, nestling in a corner of his mind with a sound much like a sigh of relief. The cure was for death, but surely that was but a mistake of 87's part, he thought. No-one sine Asklepios had even _claimed_ to be able to cure death. Finally, as the flood of information continued with no sign of stopping, 87 fell, finally and peacefully, into unconciousness, with a final message from the Therapeutae echoing through his mind; _You already know what you must do, child of Egypt. You must be a surgeon in truth now, cut away the diseased flesh of Sparta, so that Greece herself may yet live._ The words were spoken with such a depth of sadness, and compassion, that 87 found himself sobbing as he awoke, several minutes later.

He gathered up his gear. He knew now what to do. He had to rescue the Kretan, and somehow get them both out of the camp alive. They could hide aboard one of the ships of Corinth which went to the Ionian League every few days, filled with olives, clay, wine and other trade goods to trade for spices from Persia. If one looked into 87's eyes as he strode back to camp, alive with the purpose and power of a god, they would see that his eyes were pure green, his pupil's having changed to the slit-eyes of a snake. Perhaps, if one listened exceptionally closely, one might also hear an apology upon the wind, as a God mourned the necessity of sending his priest to war.


	4. Isthmus of Corinth, 431 BC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do note the tags. This fic is going to have some serious gore in it, starting with this chapter. If that sort of thing doesn't float your boat, I'll leave a basic description of what happens in this chapter in the end notes.
> 
> Many thanks to Anjael, who promises to make me into a bloody ruin if I don't constantly write please gods send help.

87 walked into the camp with purpose. Not many people realized, even in military circles, that if one walked with the _look_ of doing something important, very few people would bother you. He walked past the sentries with no acknowledgement of their shouts of challenge, his presence alone making the sentries believe he had been beyond camp with orders from Ren. He marched up to the Kretan's tent, shoving his helmet on as he walked. Stopping just before the door, as the sentry there was under orders to gut anyone who came too close, 87 stared at the man, and said in a remarkably casual tone 'Ren want's to see the Kretan. I've orders to bring him to the Commander's tent." The sentry relaxed infinitesimally at this, beckoning 87 forward. Waiting impatiently as the Kretan was untied and brought out, 87 wondered if he should kill the guard, just to gain them some more time. Ren wouldn't know who was responsible for the escape, and would spend more time trying to account for his precious Spartans, than a single escaped prisoner, so far from Athens and home.

As the sentry passed over the Kretan with a grunt of effort, he looked 87 dead in the eye and smiled apologetically "Sorry about my boys earlier" He said suddenly, gesturing towards the group of Spartans lounging by the fire, some of whom had been jeering at the Kretan's screams. "I'll have their guts on the end of my aichme for laughing at him" The sentry continued, raising his voice to the harsh bark of every sergeant in history, one which promised weeks of misery for the damned fools who had gained his ire, glaring at the men lounging by the fire. 87 relaxed slightly, hefting the Kretan up, and abandoning all thought of killing this sentry. Here was a piece of all that was truly _good_ about the Spartans, that fierce desire for honour and glory, that deep respect for other fighting men and women, and that terrifying discipline.

 _You think so quickly of killing_ , the thought came, the voice of the God disapproving. "Try living among these people for _your_ entire life, and see how quickly their ideas seep in" 87 mumbled in response, trying to reply without sound, so as to avoid arousing suspicion. _He won't last the night, not after what He did to him_. _You must help him as best you can,_ Asklepios said, a glow appearing in 87's hand. He pressed the odd glow against the Kretan's side as he supported the man's stumbling walk across the campground, trying to disguise the amount of healing he was doing. Finally, just as they passed Ren's tent, the Kretan woke up with a start. Years of practise ensured he did not awaken screaming, instead his eyes flickered open, and he immediately tried to look for an escape route.

"Can you stand?" 87 muttered hoarsely at him, loosening his grip just slightly. "Huh..? Wha..?" Came the response, the Kretan obviously still disorientated from having just awoken. 87 paused, turning fully to face the Kretan, pulling off his helm with difficulty and repeated "Can. You. Stand? Because we've got to get out of here, _now_ "  
"'re y'with the Resistance?" Came the slurred response, the Kretan's body oh-so-slowly waking up from his torture.  
"What? No, look, I'm trying to _rescue_ you" 87 muttered urgently, stopping and resting the Kretan against a small olive tree. _Finally_ , the Kretan's eyes cleared of the haze of unconciousness, and he said "What? But... why? You're one of _them_ " He said, gesturing at the good quality weapons and armour 87 was wearing. 87 sighed, and looked defeatedly at the man, unable to explain it properly "Because it was the right thing to do" He said simply.

Finally, the light of true conciousness returned to the Kretan's eyes, and he grinned at 87. Not a vicious grin, one which promised pain, as he had grown accustomed to, growing up amongst the Spartans, but a grin which invited you to smile _with_ him. Hesitantly, honestly not entirely sure how to, 87 smiled back, and the Kretan's grin only broadened at the sight. "I'm Poe. Poe Dameron" The Kret- _Poe_ said, reaching out an arm for a warrior's grip. 87 took a deep breath as he returned the gesture, gripping Poe's forearm tightly as he replied, with only a hint of the bitterness which festered within him "FN 2187"  
Poe blinked in confusion, obviously wondering just what in Zeus' name the young man was talking about, before asking the simple question. "FN... What?"  
87 shrugged defensively "That's the only name they ever gave me" He said, gesturing covertly at the other Spartans.  
"Alright..." Poe said, thinking as quickly as he could. His lips moved for a second through various permutations of words before finally "Finn. I'm gonna call you Finn. That sound good to you?" He asked  
A broad grin, very likely the first 87- _Finn_ had done in a decade and a half of life within the brutal society of a Spartan warrior, came across his face. "Finn?" He said, his eyes shining slightly with repressed emotion. "I like that."

  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Having finally got the edge of the encampment, Finn set the still fairly weak Dameron down on the ground. "You gonna be good to run?" He whispered, tensely waiting for the next patrol.  
" _Running_?" Dameron asked aghast, staring down at the mess of bruises and open wounds his body still was "Give me another hit of whatever-the-fuck you did earlier, and I might be able to _crawl_ out of here" He whispered, gentling the harsh words with a wry twist of his lips.  
_If we use the Flamel method, he would be on his feet in seconds_ Asklepios whispered to Finn. "The Flamel method steals future vitality for right now, it's not exactly healthy" Finn murmured back, concious of how mad he would look, talking to a God that wasn't there. _True, but it's the best hope this man has short of a good six weeks of sustained healing_ Asklepios pointed out gently.

Finn sighed in acknowledgement of that fact, and placed his hand on Poe's chest, summoning the power of the God. He pictured a small, unremarkable brown stone; for some reason this was core to the Flamel method. He pictured the weathering of that rock over millennia, and how the rock would remain the same shape of power throughout its lifetime. Finally he imagined that rock slowly being restored to its former state. When he opened his eyes, Poe was breathing normally, and he had only a few bruises few to be concerned by. Finally. _Finally_ it was time to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise I'm leaving this on a cliff hanger, and dear god I'm sorry. I want to write the violent chapter of this, I'm not wanting to leave it like this, but I'm equally concious that people (may) have been wanting simple characterization. Also, frankly, it's been a while since I posted, so there's that as well. By Saturday I should have the violent chapter up, since depression is kicking my ARSE right now. Do please bear with me on this, I do apologize for the cliff hanger once more.


	5. Isthmus of Corinth, 431 BC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks again to Anjael. ShE's a woNDerful friend and I'd be Hard prEssed to write this Long-ass Piece without her help.
> 
> As ever, serious gore warning, please gods don't read this chapter if you have an issue with gore.

Ren sat on his camp bed, almost nude after a soak in the Isthmus' waters, polishing his spear. Why, he didn't know, but something in him clearly craved the sense of completion it always brought. He focused solely on his task; long, smooth strokes down the shaft, leading to tighter, quicker strokes at the head. He lost himself to this simple pleasure, the ever-demanding God inside his aching skull receding for just a moment as he focused utterly on this pleasure, attempting to draw it out as long as he could.

Quietly, for Ren had left strict instructions for his tent to remain undisturbed, a guard peeked in, having been ordered by his officer to wake the Commander. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom inside the tent, he could just make out the Commanders back, thickly muscled, and with a truly horrific amount of scars there. His arms were thick, with less scars, but those scars that were there were recognizably from the battlefield; here, the hole left by an aichme blade, there the fine thin mark left by the barest kiss of a blade. Swallowing suddenly at the sight of the man in front of him, the guard tore his eyes away, and cleared his throat harshly from outside the tent. "Commander" He called, praying quickly to Artemis that the Commander was not in too poor a mood at being distracted from his polishing "Boagrius has need of you at the edge of camp."

Sighing in exasperation, Ren dressed swiftly, scraping off the oil from his chest as he dressed. He buckled his breastplate on swiftly, and, after a brief hesitation, took both his helm and his mask with him, putting on first the mask, then the helm over the top. It made his voice harsher, and Ren couldn't find it in himself to care; wearing a funeral mask made his enemies fear him, and kept the most important thing: his face, safe from view.

Striding from his tent, he was suddenly confronted by a wash of flame licking over the supply tent, and barked orders for fire teams to form, to battle the flames before too many of the Spartan's supplies were consumed by Hestia's greedy child. As he neared the flames, he caught the distinct clash of a aichme hitting armour, and sprinted towards the sound, allowing Ares a hair of control, the god granting him an enormous boost of speed, the consequence being that his heart beat faster in his chest, and a horrible rictus grin forming upon his lips.

He made it swiftly to the sounds, finding nothing but dead or injured Spartans and perioikoi. _Another raid?_ He wondered, unconciously raising his head to taste the smells on the wind. _There._ came the self-satisfied thought from Ares _Two men, one stinks of blood and injury... the other is one of yours?_ Ares thought, the final words coming with the first ever taste of genuine confusion Ren had felt from the God in all his years of service. "Find them!" He howled, gesturing for his men to follow the tracks of the two desperate men as they ran from the camp.

 

_One Hour Earlier_

 

The first Spartan to fall was honestly more a mistake than an actual deliberate attack. Finn and Poe had been waiting for less than five minutes before the guard finally showed. Finn tackled him to the ground, desperately trying to muffle the man's sounds, before realising that that wasn't necessary. The man stared blankly into the Underworld, his neck broken by a small stone under his throat. Poe grabbed the man's knife, feeling instantly better with the knowledge that he could be _useful_ now. They sneaked further towards the edge of the camp, pausing close to a stationary guard.

"I always hate this bit" Poe muttered to himself, rising up like a wraith behind the man, putting his arm around the man's throat, his hand taking a hold of his right jaw, before thrusting the knife into the throat itself. He worked the blade deeper into the gushing wound, before finally tearing the knife free, coating roughly five feet of ground in the man's blood, and soaking his own face and body. He turned and grinned recklessly at Finn, who's hands instinctively tightened on his weapons as he beheld a man coated in blood so dark it was almost black, grinning like a madman. Suddenly, a second guard appeared, and was about to raise the alarm when Finn's aichme appeared in his chest. Finn scrambled over to the new guard, managing, after placing a foot firmly on the dead man's chest, cracking several ribs as he pushed, to pull the aichme free with an awful sucking sound.

"Two down, only five hundred or so to go" Poe said wryly, clapping the younger man on the shoulder, waking him from his shock. He hadn't _meant_ to kill Demetrius, he'd been kind to him! Tamping down on his emotional turmoil, Finn slowly moved on, guiding Poe to the edge of the camp. It was going well, Finn thought, and sent a quiet prayer to Diana that it would remain so.

Diana clearly did not listen, as suddenly _an entire morai_ appeared, having clearly been sent as outcroppers to ensure no force from Megara assaulted into Spartan lands. A great shout rose from the men at the sight of two dead guards, and one of the younger members ran off to raise the alarm to the rest of the camp. The rest hurried to surround both of the men, surrounding them with a ring of steel.

"Well, it was nice knowing you buddy" Poe said resignedly, flicking the knife around, clearly intent on killing as many Spartoi as he could before he fell. _Let me help_ came the sudden thought from Asklepios. "How can you help, exactly?" Finn muttered "You're the God of _healing_ " _Exactly, which means I know how to do this_ came the calm thought as Finn drifted away, completely unaware of what was happening outside of himself.

Finn suddenly moved impossibly gracefully, spinning in a tight circle, aichme knocking aginst the aichme of the men surrounding him, numbing their hands. As he completed his turn, he threw his aichme directly into the air, drawing the eyes of the Spartans as he drew his sword. He stabbed out, his blade far too fast for a human, and landed a blow directly in a man's eye, ripping the blade out only to gently push the falling corspe off line slightly, allowing him to hack his blade across the throat of the man standing next to the new corpse, as his shield fell slightly due to the body pulling it down as it fell towards the earth. He moved again, killing with each economical movement, here a clean, surgical slice across a kidney, here a hamstring cut, then the throat slashed with as little effort as possible. the circle around him began to collapse, and Finn moved on, still killing, pursuing the morai as it panickedly attempted to reform, this time into a defensive circle. Finn walked into the range of the aichme of these sudden defenders, swaying just slightly to avoid the blows raining down on him. Some aichme he simply accepted the blows of, having judged them as non-critical wounds. He staggered back slightly as one aichme found its way into his chest, the follow-up strike with a shield shattering teeth and jaw and nose. He managed to turn the stumble and fall back into a graceful tumble, his nose and jaw _cracking_ as they healed, Asklepios' power in full use. He struck three more times, the first to cut the tendon of the left leg, the second cut to the arm, slicing clean through the bone, ensuring that the aichme that would have taken his throat was now caught by the enemy's own shield, and the third strike across the eyes and through the brain. Finally, beaten, broken by forces not entirely human, the morai broke, men throwing aside weapons and shields so they could run faster.

_I have done all I can, for now_ came the vastly sorrowful thought from Asklepios, allowing Finn his body back. _You should make for Corinth herself. My cousin will not stop until you are caught, but his bloodhounds cannot find you on the open sea. Head to Ionia_ came the thought. __Finn relaxed suddenly as the Gods attention was diverted from him, the weight of a Gods gaze was not an easy one, he mused. Poe quickly scrambled to his feet, having missed most of the fight due to a combination of a poor position, and his own desperate fight for his life. "We gotta get out of here, Finn" he said quickly "We should head North, towards Athens as quick as we can. They've not got horses, so pursuit'll be easy to outrun" he said, thinking quickly  
"Why not catch a ship in Corinth?" Finn asked, trying as nonchalantly to carry out the Gods suggestion _without_ blurting out the words 'A God speaks to me, and he thinks we should do this'. A massive grin split Poe's face, and he nodded in agreement, looting the corpses of what few drachmae they had on him as they ran towards Corinth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I understand the issue some people might be having. Finn in the film is not exactly the best when it comes to fights, at least in the first film. However, in the escape scene in the film, we see Finn absolutely casually mow down DOZENS of 'troopers as they escape in a TIE Fighter. This is just my variation on that scene, nothing more.
> 
> The next chapter shall feature a very brief time skip. Since you literally cannot find a desert in Greece, I've had to improvise, and so our two heroes are sodding off to modern day Turkey, called Ionia here, in order to get to Jakku.
> 
> With regard to the guard reacting to Ren's physique, Greece had a very interesting culture when it came to sex. Gay relationships were common, and indeed Herodotius claims that Spartan women, when they married, would shave their heads and dress as men for the first year of marriage, because their husbands would be so used to having sex with other men, it would enable them to 'get used' to the idea of having sex with a woman. Now, Herodotius is probably full of shite about this, but there's clearly a seed of truth SOMEWHERE in that. Relationships between grown men and prepubescent and vaguely pubescent boys was not only common, it was EXPECTED. While that will absolutely NOT be a part of this fic, at any point, it's still important to mention, because pieces of culture like this highlight how the entirety of Greek culture worked, and what it found taboo or wrong.


	6. Sardis, Persia 431 BC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear God this has been a long time coming. I can only apologize; first it was work, and then frankly my depression kicked my arse from here to Rotterdam. So again, to all five of the people who actually read this, I can only apologize lol.

Rey was dying. 

Her problem was simple: while she had a waterskin full of water, she had no food. Plutt would sell foods for scrap metal, which he could sell back to the blacksmiths of Sardis for a hefty profit. The food wasn't anything special: simple fare like bread, olives, goat and goat's cheese; the four main food groups of Greece, and her nominal territories and allies, such as where Rey lived, in Ionia. She was left with no real choice: she had to find scrap, or she would begin to starve, an absolute death sentence here.

She had been hiking across a section of the desert hills, trying to get to a favourite scavenging spot; where an army of Greek mercenaries fifty years ago had fought and defeated the local Shah's army, and had left hundreds of pounds of precious metal, scattered across the hills. Much of it had been found and sold over the years, but Rey had an odd knack when it came to finding things others could not.

She thought to herself, trying to work out where might have the best hoard of scrap to be found. Perhaps the low land areas? But no, she thought, shaking her head, she'd been in those areas just last week and found very little, only a cuirass and a set of greaves, taken from a skeleton with a truly horrific hole in the temple. The high mountainous pass into the rest of Persia? No, she thought again, that area would be snowing now. She didn't question _how_ she knew it would be snowing more than forty pasangs away, she assumed it was a consequence of having lived in this brutal landscape since early childhood.

Finally, she settled upon going to a small, little known pass within the cliffs leading into the rest of Persia. These smaller passes were only really known to locals, and even then they could only be used in the summer months, as they would be snowed in by the time autumn began. They were only truly used by goatherds and smugglers, to ensure they could get the best grazing for their animals, or so they could cross the mountains without having to brave the gauntlet of checkpoints the Shah's taxmen had set up. There was a possibility that cast-off shields or armour had been overlooked over the years, or hidden under layers of rock, snow and ice.

She trudged on, slowly making her way to the pass, using her staff as best as she could to ease her passage. She had made the staff herself, having taken a sturdy branch from an olive tree and carved it down into a smooth weapon, roughly two fingers thick, and as hard as iron after baking in the sun for 10 years or more. She had carved it with her knife, which she had made from the head of an aichme, wedged into a small piece of animal bone, polished and stained by the sweat of Rey's palms over the years.

Finally, after four hours of hiking across rocky terrain that even a goat would find challenging, she made it to the pass. Thankfully, while there was snow in the air, and an enormous storm bank of cloud suggesting a blizzard here, and a possible sandstorm in Jakku, it wasn't snowing heavily enough to cover the ground, and thus the scrap metal armour that Rey needed in order to survive. Slowly, she began to search, finding a small piece here and there, but nothing that might get her more than a day's portion from Plutt.

 _This way_ , came the feeling, and she listened to her gut instinct, slowly moving further into the pass. She found a few more pieces, but nothing to justify the risk of avalanches or a rock slide. _Here_ , came the thought again, and she moved towards where the feeling was taking her. She found a small crack in the pass that she could have sworn had not been there previously. Slowly, she moved into the crack in the rock, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She saw what was essentially riches to her; a full _FIVE_ 'suits' of armour, complete with helms, aichme's, and swords, scattered around a large pile of stones. Feeling her way over to the stones, she felt a series of carvings on the wall, slowly working out that it was Greek, and spelt 'Here lies Commader Dioxys. As his second, I become Commander of these ten thousand. Commander Ouranoxýstis.'

She felt a chill at the carved words. The Ten Thousand came through _HERE_? She knew, as most of the people in the region knew, that the Ten Thousand marched through Sardes, but she had thought that they had come through the larger mountain pass. That had made sense to her, more room for the army to shake out and form phalanx if necessary. But the desperation that everyone had spoken of, which ruled the final days of the Ten Thousand, had clearly forced them to go through this tiny pass, regardless of how defenceless this pass made them.

Carefully, reverently, she gathered as much of the armour as she could, taking one full set as insurance, and she began the long, arduous trek back to Jakku, when a cry disturbed the peace of the high mountains "You don't understand! I'm a Greek citizen! You can't _DO_ this to me!". Dropping the pack of scrap, she clambered to the top of the nearby hill, looking on as Teedo, a well-known slaver in the area, jerked on a chain, and a small boy with shockingly red hair collapsed as the chain bit into his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. We found BB-8.... kinda. Now, the reason I left it here is simple; BB-8 is a Greek citizen. Now, we think of citizenship basically just meaning 'you were born here'. In Ancient Greece, that's not the case even SLIGHTLY. Women, slaves, barbarians, a HUGE section of male society couldn't become citizens. It was passed down through the family, for heavens sake, that's how wierdly specific citizenship was in Ancient Greece. With Rome later on, if you enslaved a Roman citizen, they quite literally WENT TO WAR to get them back. Ancient Greece? Not so much, but the THREAT was still there. So Teedo enslaving him is a MASSIVE issue, and I need to explain that before I can really do much else.  
> Next chapter, which will ACTUALLY be up in a few days, will continue from this moment, and will detail BB-8's 'freeing', Finn and Poe getting to Jakku, and how they escaped from Ren. I swear, I'm not disappearing again lol


	7. Sardis, 431 BC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .... So you know how I said the next chapter would be up in a few days...? I think this gif sums it up perfectly: https://imgur.com/gallery/6PlRXhI

A frozen moment. In stories, the teller _always_ knew what to do; how to make the characters do the right thing. Real life isn’t as easy as stories, even stories told in the barren wastelands of Jakku. Rey spent an almost shameful amount of time wondering if she could take the boy, for she could tell from the arrogance, and more importantly the _pitch_ of the voice to tell that it was male, albeit one that had not gone through the changes that made one a man or woman, and ransom him back to his Greek family, as a way to get out of the crippling half-slavery that was her lot here in Ionia. She quickly shook off such half-imagined ideas and strode out towards where the voice was calling from.

Quietly, the well of anger that she had carried since she was old enough to understand that she was by dint of birth and family; alone, unloved and weaker than many of her peers, grew. The burning anger that had been her constant companion since she had been old; the Rage of Justice Denied, the Rage of a good person driven to commit terrible sins to balance the scales that they perceived to be _wrong_ , bloomed like a flower within her soul.

This anger was dangerous, however; more than she knew, for in our moments of greatest triumph, when we stand over the scattered corpses of our foes and we see the grateful looks in the eyes of those we have saved, the Darkness is coiling to spring. Athena knew that if her Priest continued down this path of shuttered anger and an ever-deepening hatred, all would be lost. The girl would start a crusade, and her armies would sweep the Persian Empire clean of the filth of slavery. But eventually, one day, the Darkness would strike, and she would find herself presiding over _new_ slave auctions; but these were the children of her enemies! The Darkness would whisper in her soul, they _deserve_ to feel what it was like to be a slave, we can make an exception here. And so, the girl’s soul would spiral down into depths of hatred and pure, malicious _evil_ , such that even _REN_ would look upon her Empire and seek to overthrow it.

As she strode over the dune, she twisted the head of her staff, revealing a blade hidden within the staff’s head. She kept the blade within its sheath for the time being, simply taking comfort in the fact that she was not ENTIRELY unarmed. When she found the young boy, who had been inadvertently leading her right to him by dint of his constant yelling, she was utterly flabbergasted. The boy _had red hair_ , not even the dyed orange of one of the courtesans that Rey had seen once as a child, travelling through Jakku to get to Halicarnassus, but true fire red. Inadvertently, she made a quick sign to ward off evil, so surprised was she by the appearance of this young boy.

His eyes narrowed slightly in obvious contemplation, before calling out to Rey directly “Can you not help me? My master is a rich man…” he said, trailing off suggestively. “I thought you said you were a citizen?” Rey replied, speaking as calmly as she could, not seeing any guards or indeed, ANYONE other than this boy in a net.  
“I am!” The boy hurriedly assured her, “my parents died when I was young, so their citizenship passed onto me” He continued, his eyes filling with tears as he confronted again the pain of losing his family at such a young age.  
Rey’s eyes likely filled with one or two herself, she thought ruefully. Glancing around, she spied a lump under one of the nearby blankets. Putting her finger to her lips in a pantomime of silence, she drew the knife from her staff, and nudged the blanket with her foot, placing her knife where she reckoned the idiots throat would arrive.

Predictably, Teedo all but _burst_ from his damned blankets, before freezing at the touch of cold metal digging just slightly into his throat. “Teedo, Teedo, Teedo, I’m disappointed in you!” Rey said, praying that he didn’t have any other friends lurking nearby. “ _Sleeping,_ while you have a Greek _citizen_ in your net? That’s not like you, you’d normally be halfway to Sardis, dragging the poor bastard kicking and screaming into slavery” She said, her voice full of bitterness; one of Rey’s acquaintances, for one did not have friends in Jakku, had been taken into brothel-slavery by one of Teedo’s ilk, cementing Rey’s utter hatred for slavery and the system that allowed such a thing. She dug the knife slightly deeper into Teedo’s flesh, savouring the darkness that urged her to cut deeper, and _watch as the flesh splits, the blood flows, KILL HIM, KILL THEM ALL._ Her head literally _snapped_ backwards as she broke out of the spiral of thought. That had been happening more and more recently, the dark thoughts that had been there always, like a wolf in the back of her mind, making themselves far more known. She was terrified of what might happen when she, inevitably, succumbed.

“I… I was taking him to Halicarnassus!” Teedo said desperately, fearing this girl and the dead-eyed stare that was currently drilling into his soul. “I swear to Ormazd!” he continued, invoking one of the Twin Gods of Zoroastrianism, in his case, the God of Light. Fluently switching from Greek to Persian, Rey leant in close, and whispered to Teedo, his eyes widening with fright “I hope Ormazd hears of your blasphemous perjury, and the sun which He holds strikes you down for your sins.

Getting up from her half crouch by Teedo’s stinking blankets, she picked _up_ the net, with the boy still inside, who yelped and cursed at her, turned to Teedo and said calmly “I’m taking the boy. In payment, I’ll not tell the guard you were tempting war by trying to enslave a Greek citizen.” Waiting until Teedo grudgingly bowed his head in agreement of _bater,_ or the trade one accepts with a sword to the throat, Rey set off towards her home, looking like one of the great trade caravans that came through Jakku twice a year, carrying a boy, the net which the boy was tangled in, a pack of scrap and two full suits of armour and weaponry to match. If one looked at her directly, one would see the Face of Athena smiling serenely back at them, having lent her young High Priest almost all of her strength, so that her Priest might be free of her shackles, and serve as her Goddess required.


	8. Sparta, Winter, 431 BC

Silence was nervous. It was his first time meeting the War King, Snoke, and his first time being an official part of the Knights of Ren. One could tell that he was nervous by the way the fires in the hearths nearby flared into violent life, then quietened, in time with his nervous pants for breath. Suddenly, a gnarled hand appeared on his shoulder, and the oldest member of the Knights appeared all but literally out of nowhere.  
“Silence, lad, you’re letting yourself get out of hand.” he said, the gentle rebuke made all the gentler by the simple signal tapped out on Silence’s shoulder, the silent language of the Knights completely unknown to the ephors and courtiers nearby: _Relax, Kylo is near_. Finally, _finally_ , Silence gained control of his breathing and his nerves, and nodded gratefully at Morai, who simply smirked at the younger man.  
“It’s a sad day when the Priest of Hades gets less respect than some upstart boy of Ares.” Morai said pompously, knowing full well Kylo was at the door of the alcove Silence had been waiting in.  
“Don’t tell me, Morai; back in my day, I’d call my Commander anything I wanted, and they were privileged.” Came the sardonic tones of the Commander, wearing an almost affectionate smile at the old man’s antics.  
Morai shrugged extravagantly, turning to grin at Kylo, and said “When you’ve lived as many times as I have, you learn not to take Kings and Masters very seriously.”  
“From your mouth to the Gods ears.” Kylo replied, his smirk threatening to turn into a full-blown smile, something none of the ephors or courtiers nearby had _ever_ seen on the dour Commander of the Knights of Ren.

“What do you mean, as many times as you have.?” Came the almost inevitable question from Silence, who still hadn’t quite grasped that he’d been named Silence in the desperate hope that he’s actually BE silent every once in a while. Morai’s eyes closed in brief, half-joking despair, before turning back to the boy and saying, “You know I’m the Priest of Hades, aye?” When Silence nodded, his brow furrowed at such an odd question; of _course_ he knew, he could FEEL the deathly cold radiating off the old man, far more than any of his brother or sister Knights, Morai continued “Hades and I have… an arrangement. He knows that his Power’s aren’t for many people, I think even Kylo here’d agree that he’d hate to fight someone like me, and so, a LONG time ago, Hades and I agreed that I’d be reborn a decade or so after my last death and would become the ‘permanent’ Priest of Hades, since I was the only sod in Elysium who He could trust with such powers.”

Silence waited for several seconds after these impossible sounding revelations, before asking “You were in Elysium? And you came BACK?”  
Morai grinned suddenly and said “Aye, lad, I did. Elysium’s a good place to go, don’t mistake me, but up here, I’m doing SOMETHING to help Greece, not sitting in the Underworld waiting for it to all end.”

 

A loud, forced cough interrupted the Knights conversation, as Ephor Hux entered the room. “The King will see you now, gentlemen” He said, his permanent sneer somewhat undermining the respectful words. Kylo shouldered his way past the Ephor, striding towards the Hall that Snoke would be within, Silence and Morai following up the rear, both of them having fallen very naturally into the formation the Spartans called ‘Wolves Head’, a formation used when a small squad was behind enemy lines, and could trust nothing but their brothers next to them. Both were fairly confident not even _Snoke_ would understand the significance of where the two would stand; reasonably far apart, but both in defensive positions with a clear view of the others within the Hall.  
The Knights existed outside the regimented life of the Spartan Army, even if their Commander got his orders from the War King, and that outside existence had fostered a self-sufficiency and lack of trust in the Spartans that, while the Commander did not _encourage_ per se, he certainly did nothing to discourage it. Traditionally, the Hippeis was the bodyguard of the War King, and so Commander Ren was needed in practically every War Council, as he was the lead bodyguard of the King, even if Snoke in reality used his Hippeis as a terrifying combination of scout and one-man army.

“Commander Ren,” came the dusty greeting from Snoke, who sat upon his throne, red cloak carelessly draped around his frame. “Where is the information on Skywalker that I ordered you to recover? I don’t see an old man here, besides our Priest.” A bark of laughter came from several generals within the Hall, and Morai carefully marked each of them in his memory, promising himself that these would be the FIRST to taste the wrath of Hades, before shaking off the dark thoughts with the ease of old age and long practise.  
Kylo knelt before the throne, very carefully did NOT remove his helmet, and said “The old man was never in Megara to begin with. My sources within the city claim he never left Athens, and Morai’s gifts agree with my sources. We captured a Kretan archer, and were in the middle of transporting him here for interrogation, when one of our own betrayed us; soldier 2187.”  
“The Persian boy?” Asked one general, surprise in his voice “But we took him in after his parents died, why would he…?”  
“He seemed to Awaken, and his God, whoever they are, seems to be hostile to our ways” Ren said calmly  
“I’m hearing a great deal of ‘seems to’ and ‘might haves’ here, Commander…” Snoke said slowly “I take that to mean you _didn’t_ secure our traitor and his friend _during_ their escape?”

Ren looked up at his Master, completely calm. “It was the middle of the night, My King, and we were unaware of his nature. I’ve sent three of my Knights after him; The Smith, Knifer and the Liar. They will follow them until the ends of the world if necessary.  
“Will that be necessary?” muttered one general “Where could they go, besides Athens herself?”  
“We believe they bartered for passage to Ionia.” Came the bland reply from Ren.

“Get out of my sight,” Came the snapped response from Snoke, who rose from his throne. “Return only when you have finally done what I ordered, not sooner”  
“My Kin-“ Ren began  
“ _ENOUGH,_ boy,” Snoke interrupted, gesturing towards the door. “You have 4 weeks,” He said, sitting back down heavily “After that date, our attack upon Hosnia will be ready, and we shall be out of time.” Ren bowed in acknowledgement, and, gathering his Knights, stalked from the room, leaving Snoke to his planning of the Hosnia campaign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, English is HARD when it comes to speech...
> 
> Edit: Deleted then reuploaded to get rid of a glitch, my apologies


	9. Sardis, Ionia, 431 BC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously hope my little joke in here actually makes sense, dear god.

“Damn, damn, damn!” Rey yelled. Her plan, having freed the boy, was to return home, resupply for the trek into the town of Jakku, sell all her new-found wealth and return home, lest scavengers come in the night, having somehow sniffed out that someone had raided a new cache of armour and weaponry. R’iia had put an end to _that_ ambition, Her breath scouring the area free of sinners, and it looked like Her Storm would last through the night. BB-8 (his name, he’d explained was Basilides Boethus, 8 th of his name, and that not even his _PARENTS_ called him that, preferring to shorten it to BB-8) staring at the howling sandstorm, utterly entranced by this complete unknown.

“Well,” Rey sighed “we’re certainly not getting to Jakku in THAT, even if Athena Herself shielded us on our path.” She continued, kicking at the wall nearest the entrance to the cave that was her home, BB-8 staring at her in vague shock at her impiousness. She walked over to the nearest chair, having thoroughly looted the tomb that her cave had been originally dug out to contain. The chairs were, if one looked closely enough, made of cedar wood, coated with gold, but frankly, Rey was less interested in restoring the chairs, and more interested in resting her legs after a long day of scavenging. Quite aside from anything else, she had found her home at the age of 5, after R’iia had found a sinner or three among the township of Jakku, forcing Rey to abandon the town in search of shelter. She had stumbled upon a cave which she could have SWORN had a faint blue glow to it, but the night she had found her home was so long ago, and so full of confusion, dehydration and starvation that Rey had learnt the trick of not thinking about that night.

“Why were you in Ionia with your master?” Rey asked, catching BB-8’s attention by throwing a tightly rolled wad of smoked goat meat his way, the ravenous hunger all young people face ensuring his attention was entirely on Rey, and the goat that he devoured far too fast, making Rey’s internal scavenger whisper _one meal less; you’ll need to hunt far sooner if you’re going to be weak and keep the boy like a pet_.  
BB-8 swallowed the last of the meat with difficulty, looking like a particularly young Aesculapian snake, almost throwing his head back in order to swallow the meat quicker. “We were here for The General,” He answered “They mentioned something about someone being in need of a rescue here, but by the time we got here, they’d moved on to a small walled town near Corinth, called Megara. My master went to Corinth on the next ship, but left me here with friends of his from his mercenary days, so that I could keep an ear out for anything that might help The General.”  
“Who in Hades’ name leaves a CHILD in the desert?” Rey demanded, BB08 blinking up at her in shock at her demand, unable to see anything wrong with what his master had done; the arrogance of his Aristoi upbringing, combined with the arrogance of a youth who’d never seen further than Corinth, let alone the Persian Empire, made BB-8 consider himself capable of anything, a dangerous thought to have in the desert.

Rey remembered having such arrogance; it had been burnt out of her the first time she’d encountered a snake in the midday sun. The faint rasp of its scales against one another had been her only warning, as the snake bunched it’s muscles to leap on the idiot who’d stumbled practically into its nest, willing to defend its clutch of eggs with its life. She’d nearly died as the poison kept her sick for several weeks, unable to hunt, unable to scavenge, left alone in her cave to burn through the poison with no aid of any sort, yet she had emerged from her unlikely chrysalis stronger, and decidedly colder, than before. She knew how to survive, but her essentially kind nature had led to disaster after disaster, and that snake bite had seemed a wake-up call from the Gods, a final warning that next time, they would not be so lenient. She was trying to hold onto those beliefs, but it was hard when a child looked at you with the utter trust that comes from youth, unable to discern people’s true face or nature.

“Get some rest, we’ll be leaving early, before the sun rises.” Rey said, fully prepared to ignore the whining of BB-8 before he settled down to sleep, and was pleasantly surprised when he curled up to sleep with nary a complaint passing his lips, having learnt the hard way from his master that complaining got you nothing but teasing. Her lips quirked up into a smile, and Rey carefully set a small blanket over the boy as he slumbered, knowing far too well how cold the desert got at night.  
Carefully, she scaled the rocks that the cave hid behind, wrapped tight against R’iia’s Breath, and tied several of her knives out in the storm, knowing that the blades would be sharpened by the storm, since Rey’s last rag which had been her go to sharpening rag had disintegrated the previous day. Quietly, she murmured a thank-you to the storm, the whistling susurrations of the storm lending a cadence to her prayer of thanks unlike any she’d heard before.

Finally, Rey was able to sleep, settling down with her back to the wall as was her custom; this might well be the safest place she’d ever found, but that didn’t mean that it was _COMPLETELY_ safe, a wolf pack, or worse, a bear might seek refuge in the cave from R’iia, Her Breath finding just one more sinner, albeit indirectly. Finally, she closed her eyes  
  
_and awoke somewhere else. Looking around frantically, she relaxed when she saw Him, the Man of Darkness, as her childhood self had called him. She couldn’t remember a time when she HADN’T seen him, practically every night, she dreamt of him. He glanced over, no trace of surprise on what little of his face she could see, and she felt his surprise, like feathers on her skin. “_ I thought you had abandoned me” _He said, his voice somehow both mournful and frantic_  
“Abandoned?” _Rey questioned, his brief flinch of alarm showing her that he could feel her surprise just as well as she could feel his._ “I wouldn’t abandon ANYONE the way I…” _her voice trailed off, the little girl inside Rey reminding her that she HADN’T been abandoned, her parents were coming back, they were! They were just…. elsewhere right now.  
_ “Little Light,” _the man said, a dangerous amount of affection in his tone_ “I haven’t seen you in at least 10 years now.”  
“But that’s impossible!” _Rey cried_ “I dream of you every night; how could you not see me? This is MY dream.” _She said, almost stamping her foot in frustration at how odd her dream was tonight  
_ “Are you the dreamer, or are you the dreamt?” _The man asked, a deep, rumbling sigh echoing through his massive frame. Just as she was about to demand answers_ Rey awoke, to the sounds of BB-8 complaining bitterly about the cold.  
“Wretched dreams” Rey muttered as she drowsily clambered up, wincing at the slight discomfort of having slept sat upright with her knees pressed against her chest, back against a wall all night. Oddly, she felt no cold, feeling more like she’d slept with her back against a _furnace_ all night....


	10. Sparta, Winter 431 BC

Kylo awoke sharply, his breath heaving out like the bellows the Smith loved so very much. It had felt so _real_ that time, and he only just restrained himself from checking his flesh for the cuts and scars that his brain, soused still in sleep, felt he _ought_ to have. Carefully leaning back on his wolf-furred bedding, he cast his mind back over the dream he’d just been having. _Dreams_ Came the thought from Ares, _Not one, but several_.

The first, and by far the most confusing had had a little girl in. Practically a child, she had spoken to him in a language he felt he _ought_ to know, but was just out of his reach. He _knew_ the girl, he could feel it, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember where from. Casting his mind back years and a name ago, he jerked upright again. _Sunshine_ , He thought. The girl who’d haunted his dreams for the first few stumbling years of his life, the one he’d dismissed as a fantasy of the Gods, an embodiment of the Light inside of him. He’d always private mourned the ‘death’ of the girl as he had sought the power his grandfather had promised him lay in his bloodline, foolish perhaps, but he couldn’t help but feel grief for the poor thing; trapped within a body which denied it, and eventually killed it.

The second dream, which had oddly interspersed with the dream of the girl, had been of Vader. His grandfather had been wounded grievously, more so even than the wounds that had been the war markings of a man who had walked out from a maelstrom of Greek Fire, and through simple determination and will, had lived and thrived afterwards.

Vader’s enormous helmet, designed to be almost half again the size of a human skull, in case sections of horrifically burnt skin moulded to the metal and it became impossible to remove the helmet without damaging the skin anew, had been cast aside, almost ripped from Vader’s skull by Skywalker.   
It was almost surreal, looking upon the man he once called Uncle’s face, twisted and almost snarling with hatred, it made it all the more obvious why he had retreated so far from the world after Vader’s defeat; he had used the Darkness to defeat Vader, no other strength could have come _close_ to defeating such a man, certainly not some practitioner of the pitiful _Light_.

Vader stared directly at his son, serene in spite of the awful pain which clearly wracked his figure, and said, to some guttural question “I followed my orders… Believing in my cause, same as you.”

“Is it any different from your own work?” He continued, coughing blood from a wound to his gut, the blood still clearly visible on Luke’s blade. “You take the lives of men and women, _strong_ in the conviction that it will improve the lives of those left behind… A minor evil, for a greater good?” he said, his eyes holding terrible knowledge as Luke sought to deny the truths even as they struck him to the bone “We _are the same_ ” Vader said, calmly as his eyes began to droop closed “You cannot stop us now” Vader said confidently, even as he died “We _shall_ have our new world.”

 

Ren shook off the aftereffects of the dream; a renewed sense of purpose and desire to see his grandfather’s work completed did NOT translate well while Contacting another Priest over a thousand pasangs away.  
The act of Contact was an almost intimate one; it had taken him _years_ of hard work to Contact The Smith, and the man had been sitting in front of him the entire time. Knifer was an entirely different kettle of fish; a street kid from Athens, long brown hair and good looks had meant that Knifer’s existence on the streets had _not_ been a good one for the girl. She always had around ten knives on her at any one time; the first (and only) time she had been searched by an overzealous guard as she tried to enter one of the barracks, the eventual total had been in the high thirties before she buried one in the guards throat for trying to take advantage.

“Well?” He said aloud, one of the only issues with a Bond of this nature was that every word had to be spoken aloud. _Liar’s being an idiot again, are you_ quite _sure I can’t stab him somewhere he won’t die?_ The words came out of thin air, with the Connection bringing all of Knifer’s wry intelligence and humour into Kylo’s very _mind._ If it were not for his terrifying mental control, it very well might have hurt, but as it was, it was a simple low buzzing as his mind tried to sort through emotions that were emphatically not his own.  
He sighed in relief; none of the emotions bleeding through tasted of pain or anger, so his little party of Priests, all sent to recapture the runaway Kretan and the traitor 2187, were all safe and well. The Smith had insisted on going, stubborn old Hephaestion that he was, Morai had gone because he spoke Persian, always a boon when venturing into Ionia, and the Liar had gone because… well, he was the Liar, a man who could barely stay still for a _DAY_ , let alone the three months of horrific winter that blanketed Sparta.

“Any news?” he asked the air, a wandering guard giving him an odd look as he passed, which Kylo carefully ignored. _A minor scrap among the sailors_ , came the response. _Nothing to report about the traitor or the Kretan_ She continued, black rage filling her mind at the mention of the traitor.

“Keep me updated” Kylo said, carefully closing the Connection, lest some stray emotions remain within his mind, polluting his control. This was a ritual on both sides, Knifer needed to close the Connection just as carefully, because if Kylo’s emotions polluted _her_ mind, bad things could happen. Both the Sith _and_ the Jedi agreed on that point, and not even Kylo was going to disagree with that point. Finally, the ritual of cleansing was complete, and Kylo strode off, intent on finding out more information about the Persian Empire, that mighty monster which slumbered with one eye firmly fixed on Greece, and her fractious city-states.


	11. ???, 4?? BC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://whatyearisit.info/img/what_year_is_it.jpg
> 
> Oh dear GOD this has been far too long coming. Basically, Real Life (TM) got to me, new job demanding I work 50+ hours a week, depression et. al showing back up, and finally an illness that has lasted to date TWO AND A HALF FLIPPING MONTHS. My apologies for this horrific delay, and I can only hope that this chapter in some way makes up for that massive delay.

 

When I was a child, I was raised in the belief that all violence, no matter the cause, was wrong. I _believed_ in that creed, so wholeheartedly that I refused even to hunt for my own survival, subsisting instead on the berries, herbs and roots of the forest. My people saw this behaviour, and quietly approved, though they could not countenance doing the same; they saw the world as a necessary cycle, one where those who hunted became in turn the hunted themselves. To remove myself from that cycle was a brave one, they thought, but not one that could last down the years.  
When I was 22, I was met with the first great challenge to my belief of non-violence. An army appeared on the horizon of our village, and demanded food, drink and women from us. The elders discussed this, and what we might do, but all knew just how this would end; the elders would agree, for the good of our people, and so some few would be doomed to a horrific life, and early death.  
I disagreed, and though I could think of no solution that aided us, many were inclined to agree with me. None, let alone our elders, wished to see our people taken by force, and fewer wished their own children to see such dark times approach us, and find the beliefs we had served for millennia had betrayed us.

The Eldest communed with the Gods, and cried out for their aid; for had we not sacrificed to them, given them holy spaces in which to live, and Priests to act as their Hands within this world? The Oldest of the Gods stretched forth his hand and wiped away the invaders; a mighty cataclysm awoke us in the night, as the great mountain in whose shadow we lived awoke, and exploded into a stream of fire and monstrous anger. The invader’s camp was lost in the stream of fire that flooded from the mountain, and those few who survived fled into the forests around us, and troubled us no more. My people celebrated, and life returned to normal, but a nagging doubt had entered my mind because of this; if violence was to be abhorred, then why would the Gods kill those who threatened our people?

Several years passed, and still I had found no solution to this problem which plagued my every waking thought. I feared what might come of my people should my fears become widely known; we were a peaceable folk, content in our simple lives, why should we _WANT_ to change so dramatically? Unfortunately, I was not given time to come to another conclusion, for a horde appeared, devouring the land around us like locusts. These invaders did not demand plunder and women; they simply took them at sword and spear point, collaring hundreds of our weeping people for a life of brutal servitude. Once more the Eldest communed, but this time the Gods did not answer.

A solution appeared to me, however, whispered in the night as I stared at the fires of these invaders; _you could save them all, and more_. “Teacher,” I asked one evening, when the voice in my head grew to a tumult. “Could one… save people, while killing others, without breaking your belief of peace? Can one _be_ a defender of the peace, and a killer?”  
“Peace is the _only_ path.” The Elder replied flatly. “We revere the great Bear Wodanaz, as your own name attests, Chewbaccai’Ursos. You are the Beloved of the Bear, and you can show your reverence for Him by obeying our teachings.” The Elder said serenely, unknowing of the sudden spike of sheer Rage inside my head.  
Confused and shamed by the Eldest’s teachings of blind peacefulness, I broke the greatest tenet of my people’s belief; I forged an axe, designed for war, the voice in my head guiding me on, instructing me in how to make this terrible thing a reality.

I sneaked from the village late that night, carrying my shame and my burden with me, listening to the voice to hide from the guilt that nipped at my heels. I strode into the enemy camp, and stood before their warchief, demanding that they release the captives of my village. They laughed, and drew weapons, intending on murdering just one more fool with a blade. As they approached, I felt a great influx of Rage, and the voice in my head grew to a shout, a war cry of betrayal and great violence.

I do not remember the next few hours, but when I awoke, the entire horde was either fled into the wilderness, or dead at my feet. Wearily, I cut my people’s bonds, and returned home, convinced that what I had done was right, yet sick at heart at having to have killed so many.

The voice in my head did not disappear, disgusted by my actions, however. Once my actions came to light, my mother, may the Gods preserve and protect her, wept as she sent me south, telling me to seek out others like myself, to _never_ give up on the teachings she shared, and to always honour the Gods. After a long time, many years of blood and grief and Rage, I found myself in the Southlands, a strange land of wine and warmth and strange languages. Connection can get a man only so far, and a thick accent makes it impossible to make people at their ease.

I sought to keep to my self-enforced peace in these soft lands, the voice in my head far away from me, as I had cast off the trappings of my faith. I still honoured my gods, but I was not close to them anymore. One evening, I came across something… strange, a man being _drowned_ in a wine pitcher, with three others looking on dispassionately. After a swift and brutal fight, that breathed new life into my bones, so long had it been since I had spilt blood, I hauled the man, no _boy_ from the pitcher. He struggled for breath for a few moments, and then stared at me, and _continued_ staring at me. I knew I was a shock to the senses when one met me the first time; eight foot and spare of bearded, blue-tattooed _monster_. I stared back at the boy, at his curling black hair, his crooked grin that even now began to re-emerge from wherever it had hidden, and his _eyes._ He _obviously_ had a piece of some God within him, some God of charm or luck perhaps, and that alone intrigued me enough to laugh and agree when he said, his voice still ruined from the near drowning he’d just escaped from “So, kid, you goin’ my way?”


End file.
